


duetto

by lupinely



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8989255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupinely/pseuds/lupinely
Summary: Yuuri wants to hold onto this moment forever; never wants to fall asleep or the sun to rise on the next day, so that the two of them can remain here like this for as long as they wish, as long as they can.





	

**Author's Note:**

> thank you.

 

 

 

 

 

  
“But,” Yuuri points out later, “if a gold medal is worth a kiss, then surely breaking your record should be worth at least that much.”

Viktor laughs. Yuuri loves to see him laugh, loves the way that Viktor already has laugh lines around his eyes and mouth from being so full of joy, so full of life, even when it’s hard.

“I could be convinced,” Viktor says. “Careful, though. You might hurt my feelings, talking about breaking my record like that. I just lost two of them, remember. Some might say I need comforting right about now.”

Yuuri pushes a hand through his hair. It is still heavy with gel from the performance, though that has lost its strength now and his hair is curling over his forehead. It gets in the way of him looking at Viktor, whose hair is always in the way. Yuuri pushes that aside too. Viktor turns his head and kisses Yuuri’s palm.

Yuuri leans in: his knees on either side of Viktor’s hips, his hands pushing Viktor’s shoulders back against the pillows. He stops with his mouth just a breath away from Viktor’s, and loves the way he can feel Viktor react, all the way from his shoulders down to his still-socked feet. A tremble of wanting, of longing, of having.

“Okay then, beloved,” Yuuri says. “How should I comfort you?”

Yuuri, his mouth nearly on Viktor’s now, feels rather than sees Viktor smile. “Surprise me,” Viktor says.

And so Yuuri does.

 

-

 

Yuuri is half-asleep when he hears Viktor mumble something against the back of his neck. He turns his head; Viktor, lying with his eyes closed, his arms around Yuuri, might have been asleep had Yuuri not known better.

“Viktor?”

“I always knew,” Viktor says. He kisses the spot between Yuuri’s shoulder blades, and Yuuri feels a small thrill at the touch, so gentle and affectionate and freely given. “That you could win, and that you could beat me.”

“You did?”

Viktor nods. He is rapidly drifting off, Yuuri can tell, but Yuuri wants to hold onto this moment forever; never wants to fall asleep or the sun to rise on the next day, so that the two of them can remain here like this for as long as they wish, as long as they can. He laces his fingers through Viktor’s and presses their joined hands against his chest, over his heart. “Thank you.”

Viktor nuzzles him. “For what?”

“For—” It feels almost stupid to say it, but of all that he has told Viktor, all that he has shared with him already, surely he can share this too. Yuuri wants to learn to be freely giving with his love, with his heart. Just like Viktor is. “Giving me hope.”

Viktor goes still. For a moment Yuuri thinks that he has upset him, somehow, but then Viktor relaxes, slowly, and curls his arms more tightly around Yuuri, planting kisses over Yuuri’s shoulders.

“And thank you, Yuuri,” he says softly, a whisper, “for giving me back my life and my love.”

By the time Yuuri is able to ask him what he means, Viktor has fallen asleep, and soon enough Yuuri does, too.

 

-

 

The thing is, neither of them had been happy.

Yuuri had known that he was unhappy—with his career, with his future, with his potential, with himself. The specter of his Grand Prix final loss had overshadowed everything, but that had just been the start of it all, and this deep-seated unhappiness had been a long time coming. But it is hard for Yuuri to imagine Viktor—smiling, playful, cheerful Viktor—as unhappy, too. Yet Viktor had been; despite being widely regarded as the best men’s figure skater alive, and seeming like someone for whom happiness is a constant state of being, Viktor hadn’t been happy.

Not that he talks to Yuuri about it much, in so many words, but Yuuri has been able to piece it together over these past few months. And for all that Viktor had smiled before, in Hasetsu he really seems to come alive.

Yuuri had been so hesitant to contemplate what his role in that had been—in Viktor’s happiness. Yet for all that he has tried to talk himself out of it, to insist that something else must be true, the fact remains: Viktor is here now, with him, in their hotel bed, and he is happy.

And so is Yuuri.

 

-

 

Yuuri loves kissing Viktor. Viktor is gentle, attentive, his lips never chapped even when the cold is biting. And sucking kisses against his collarbone while Viktor arches his back and tugs his hands through Yuuri’s hair—Yuuri loves that, too. He loves all of it. He never thought this sort of happiness, this sort of belonging, was something that could ever be his. Never thought that he would be able to hold so much love in his hands, but he can, and he does.

And it is not even that so much as it is knowing Viktor—getting to know him, the honor and privilege that is, shared in kind. It is knowing that his progress in skating is making him a better person in every area of his life as his confidence grows, as his ability to give thanks to those he loves—his family, his friends—strengthens and takes root in his soul.

Before, skating had started to feel like some sort of obligation rather than something that Yuuri genuinely had a passion for. Every devastating competitive lost had been another reminder that his time was running out, and he was wasting what little was left by being mediocre and tired and lonely. When there was a crowd, Yuuri had just wanted to skate and get off the ice as fast as possible, back to the kiss and cry and enduring the stares of thousands as he waited, agonizing, for his score, and then he could finally leave and find solitude. Where once skating had brought him companions, friendship, joy, now it only isolated him.

And it was painful to realize that this was how his career was going to end—slowly, without recognition, but worst of all as an agony to himself rather than as something that he loved.

Learning Viktor’s routine had been Yuuri’s last way of trying to find that love again. There was a grace and profound loneliness in Viktor’s aria that struck Yuuri powerfully, because he recognized it, knew its name, knew exactly where that sort of feeling called home. In his chest, behind his ribs, locked up tight.

(He never actually expected that he would learn how to break that lock: in his heart, and in others’. In Viktor’s.)

Yuuri loves the crisp sound of skates against fresh sheer ice. The brief flush of cold against his face before his heart starts to pound and there is nothing but warmth, even in the center of the rink. He loves the satisfaction of a quad flip, perfectly landed—and he loves the determination of one faltered and missed even more. His hair, longer now, gets in his eyes as he skates, and so he closes them, lets the music in his head take him where it will, with no regard for what will happen when he gets there.

He’s missed this. He’s missed this so much.

He has thought of this past year as a series of lasts—his last season, his last competitions, his last chance—but really it has been a series of firsts. His first comeback, his first self-produced routine, his first time truly believing in himself. His first loves. Skating, and Viktor.

He can feel a blush rising in his face even as he thinks that. He lets the momentum of his last turn carry him forward, and he puts out his hands and touches the wall of the rink. He opens his eyes.

Viktor is standing there, watching him, smiling. He leans forward. “Good morning, my love,” he says and kisses Yuuri, who closes his eyes again and breathes in.

Then Viktor pulls away. “Have you thought about what you will skate at the exhibition when you win?”

Yuuri, still caught up in the ice and the kiss, blinks and has to take a moment to understand what Viktor has asked. _When you win._ The Grand Prix is in a few days, and there has never been more at stake—and never has there been such surety, in Yuuri’s heart, that no matter what happens, he may still end up happy.

He thinks of the cold lonely aria, and the lone solitary beauty of Viktor alone on the ice, bathed in blue light.

“No,” Yuuri says. “But I think I have an idea.”

“Oh?” Viktor leans back and folds his arms, his smile going secretive and somewhat smug, as it tends to often do. Yuuri wants to kiss him again, but instead he says, “Put on your skates.”

Viktor, ever-patient, does, and when he spins out onto the ice, there is that grace again, that beauty that Yuuri has been chasing this whole time. Yuuri skates towards Viktor, who holds out his hands, and Yuuri takes them. It has been like this, lately; less words between them, yet a deeper intimacy. Yuuri is grateful they have the rink to themselves right now, because in this moment he needs to be with Viktor alone.

“I want to skate your routine again,” Yuuri says, and he can see the surprise in Viktor’s eyes. _I want to surpass your wildest imagination._ “But not as an aria.”

Viktor’s brow furrows—and then, as he realizes, smoothes.

“I think,” he says, his eyes bright like the sun off the sea at Hasetsu, “that I could accommodate that.”

Exhibitions for singles competitions aren’t pair skates. But surprising the audience has always been Viktor’s priority.

And what better way to announce his return to skating than this?

 

-

 

Yuuri doesn’t win gold. But he was right—he is still happy. Happier than he has ever been. And when he and Viktor skate off the ice at the exhibition together to a roaring standing ovation and Yuuri sees the look of absolute shock on Yurio’s face, he can’t help but laugh.

“Hey,” Yuuri says as Yurio walks stiffly past them towards the rink. “Have fun.”

Yurio scowls. “You always have to try to outdo me, don’t you, katsudon?” But when Yurio takes to the ice, Yuuri swears he can see just the smallest quirk of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“He’ll be all right,” Viktor says, watching Yurio captivate the audience again. “Just wait until he finds out we’re moving to Russia to train with him.”

“You’re going to tell him about that,” Yuuri says. “I’ll have no part of this.”

Viktor just laughs.

They haven’t actually talked about whether they will both move to St. Petersburg to train. But Yuuri supposes they never even really needed to talk about that. It had been understood between them the moment that they both agreed to keep skating together.

Five more years at least, is what Viktor said. Truthfully, Yuuri doesn’t know whether he has five years of competitive figure skating left in him. But he will take however many he can, with Viktor. And after that—

Well, after that, they will just have to see, won’t they?

The prospect of an uncertain future doesn’t frighten Yuuri now. Not anymore. Still watching Yurio skate—perfectly, of course, without flaw—he reaches for Viktor’s hand and laces their fingers together. He can feel Viktor’s ring against his skin, and even that cold touch makes Yuuri feel warm.

“You do know,” Viktor murmurs, his gaze trained on Yurio as he lands a combination jump, “that I’m madly in love with you, right?”

Yuuri has to bite back his own smile now. He wants to say something flirty, or funny, something like, _I’ve had my suspicions._ But this is still too new, too wonderful, for him to treat this moment with anything other than genuine affection in return.

“Yes,” Yuuri says. He squeezes Viktor’s fingers. “And I love you.”

And again—for they had kissed during the routine, twice, and each time had left Yuuri breathless—he kisses Viktor, and this time it’s better because no one is watching; everyone else in the stadium is transfixed by Yurio as he takes a bow in the center of a circle of golden light, and Yuuri puts his hand against the side of Viktor’s face, feels the warmth of his skin, and Viktor pulls him close with one hand at the small of Yuuri’s back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
